Touch of Drama
by Under0The0Sea
Summary: A relative asks Holmes to investigate a murder that occurred in a theatre during a play. From Dr Watson's point of view. Absolutely no slash.
1. A Visitor

_My muse has serious commitment issues. Does anyone know a good therapist?_

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It was an October morning when I first became acquainted with Miss Aoife Holmes. The weather was dull; the rain falling listlessly in a fine grey mist that despite it's feeble appearance was sure to drench any unhappy soul who had the misfortune to be outside within a few short minutes.

I had no desire to go out in the dismal weather and Holmes had no case that would require him to leave the warmth of 221b Baker Street and so we spent the morning in our shared rooms. Holmes was once again updating his extensive index and although he seemed content, I could sense one of his black moods, which were so often the culmination of a successful case, steeling slowly over him. The combination of a lack of stimuli to occupy his mind and the knowledge that he was likely to be confined to our rooms for several days, until the had weather improved sufficiently, was leading to an unsettling sense of ennui within him.

Consequently I could not help but feel relief (for I had no wish to see him turn once more to the cocaine bottle) when Mrs Hudson came up the stairs to announce that we had a visitor who had refused to give a name. Holmes looked up, interest plain in his keen eyes and bade Mrs Hudson to send the visitor up. Shortly we heard light footsteps on the stairs and in due course, a gentle tapping on the door. When Holmes did not immediately invite the visitor in, I glanced at him and saw that he was looking at the door with an expression of disconcertion and mild distain.

I was about to request that our guest entered when the door opened and a slim lady entered the room, her quick eyes taking in the cluttered and untidy vista that was our dwelling. She was strikingly beautiful, taller than most other members of her sex she used her height to her advantage and allowed it to give her a commanding presence even in these unfamiliar surroundings. Our guest had pale skin, waiflike grey eyes and a cascade of dark curls; her dramatic and bold appearance was further emphasized by the deep red dress she wore.

"Sherlock!" she cried as sat down unbidden onto the sofa gently pushing aside a wad of papers to make room. Holmes barely glanced up. As our visitor entered he had returned to his indexes, the brief interest that Mrs Hudson had managed to spark waning.

"Aoife how lovely to see you again" he said dryly without taking his eyes off the newspaper he was butchering, "I'll trust you'll be as good as to close the door as you leave."

Our visitor, Miss Aoife, did not allow herself to react to Holmes' subtle dismissal. She was examining our rooms with a surprisingly sharp gaze and I was left to ponder how she had become acquainted with Holmes. Had I not been witness to my friends distrust and general dislike of women on numerous occasions I would have presumed that this woman was an old lover such was the familiarity with which she had called my companion's name.

"I see that despite advancing somewhat in years your aversion to tiding has remained intact." Miss Aoife commented as she continued to survey the room, her eyes lingering for a moment on the jack knife that pinned Holmes' correspondence to the mantelpiece.

"A stunning deduction." Holmes responded wryly. I listened to the exchange with a considerable amount of confusion. I, however, was the only one at a disadvantage; neither our guest nor Holmes seemed to regard the situation as abnormal. Holmes glanced up and noticed my bewilderment.

"I'm terribly sorry Watson." said he, "Let me introduce Aoife Holmes, my first cousin." My jaw didn't drop but it was a close thing. I'd always assumed Holmes to be without a family, in fact it had been barely a month since I first learnt of the existence of his brother, and yet now I was being introduced to another family member.

I looked over at Aoife who gave me a polite nod before switching her attention back to her cousin. I wondered idly how I had not noticed the resemblance between them before. The dark hair, the sharp features and the intelligent grey eyes, as well as the familiar manner with which they spoke to each other should have informed me that this was a family member. But of course, as Holmes is fond of telling me, I see but I do not observe.

"Is this a social call or is there something particular you wish to speak to me about?" Holmes asked. I stood, unwilling to intrude and thinking I could go up to my room and turn my attention to my latest book. Holmes, however, waved a hand, gesturing that I should sit back down

"You don't need to leave Watson." when Aoife offered no contradiction I took my seat again.

"As to why I have called on you this morning surely you can deduce that for yourself." there was a slight challenge in Aoife's voice. Holmes simply smiled and reached for his pipe.

"A simple deduction. You have never called merely to exchange social niceties as we both believe them to be dull and unimportant. Therefore something inexplicable must have happened which you wish me to investigate." Aoife gave a little laugh.

"Right as always." she said. Holmes lit his pipe.

"Doctor Watson could tell you that I am not completely infallible. There have been one or two little problems to which the solution, I confess, has escaped even me."

"How did you deduce that the problem is one I want you to investigate?"

"Simplicity in itself. If the problem required thinking only you would have gone to Mycroft." Aoife laughed and I remembered how freely Holmes admitted Mycroft was his intellectual superior.

"You're quite right of course. My problem is a strange one and one that will require your investigation skills. Last night a man was murdered-"

"Commonplace." murmured Holmes. Aoife continued as though Holmes had not spoken.

"-on stage. In front of an audience who were watching the third to last performance of a play by Edward Scott, a relatively new but immensely talented playwright." I listened with interest to Aoife and I looked over at Holmes and saw with relief that he too was listening with great interest. It looked as though his black mood was, for the moment, staved off.

"The blunt knife used as a prop had been replaced with a real knife."

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_Written in a very boring lesson at school (my school may have turned into a draconian prison over the summer holidays but at least they have unblocked fanfiction). _

_I'm feeling very unconfident about my writing at the moment and I'm finding it very difficult to want to write (with the exception of this but I think that was only because I was really really bored) so I'm not sure when the next chapter will be up. Hopefully soon because this doubt about my writing is very depressing as writing used to be one of the only things I was sure I was okay at. _:s

_Thank you very much for reading. I really hope you enjoyed it. _


	2. Aoife's Statement

_I forgot to put a disclaimer at the beginning of the last chapter. I kept looking at it thinking there was something missing, so…_

_The following goes for all chapters off this story: __**Any characters from the cannon are not mine and belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle **_

_Nb. Aoife is supposed to be pronounced 'ee-fa' however I think of it as being pronounced as 'ee-ther' (the same as the pronunciation of 'ether') as this is how my friend, Aoife, pronounces it, so that's what I'm used to._

_

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"Were the police not notified?"

"Of course they were summoned instantly however after a perfunctory investigation they surmised that it was merely an accident." Holmes raised his eyebrows.

"Who was in charge of the case?" he asked

"One Athelney Jones."

"Ah." Holmes' tone conveyed perfectly his opinion of Athelney Jones, an opinion which I will admit to sharing.

"Does Mr Jones usually come to erroneous conclusions?" Miss Aoife asked delicately.

"He's very tenacious." Holmes commented slightly irrelevantly but diplomatically, which was uncommon for him; usually he made his opinions about Her Majesty's police force known.

"Be that as it may, you did not answer my question." Miss Aoife commented with the tone of someone who was used to evasive behaviour.

"I am the one who should be asking questions." snapped Holmes and he proceeded to ask a quick succession of questions in such a rapid manner that I expected Miss Aoife to be overwhelmed however she took it as one who was used to such behaviour.

"What happened immediately after the unfortunate actor met his death? Did you see anyone in the theatre who had no business there? How did the police reach their conclusion? Have there been any arguments serious enough to inspire murder amongst the cast or theatre staff?"

As Holmes fired off the questions he began pacing up and down the hearthrug, smoking his pipe swiftly. This was a noteworthy feat as the rug was so littered with paper debris that Holmes had to weave his way around several stacks of precariously balanced papers and hop over numerous smaller mounds of paper during his circumnavigation of the rug. It seemed that the relentless energy that I had come, during my long association with Holmes, to connect with a case had returned to him.

"The denouement of the play is when the hero stabs the villain; for this a blunt knife is used. Last night the scene progressed as usual, the villain fell to the ground seeming to be in his final death throes, the audience cheered. We had no reason to suspect anything was wrong."

Miss Aoife paused and sighed heavily and I noted that although she had kept her composure throughout her speech she was beginning to show signs of distress. Holmes, who was continuing his pacing and his smoking, hadn't noticed and so I took it upon myself to pour Miss Aoife a large brandy, which she accepted gratefully. There was a pause while Miss Aoife sipped her drink and Holmes gave an impatient sigh. Miss Aoife gave me a weak smile that acknowledged Holmes' impatience before continuing with her statement.

"Then Jack started bleeding. The audience thought it was some kind of effect and cheered all the more; of course we knew that something was wrong. We managed to get the curtain down although backstage was in uproar -everyone seemed to have lost the capability to think rationally.

Eventually someone was dispatched to send for a doctor and the police while the rest of us tried to calm Jack and tend to the wound while we waited for medical help. Meanwhile, of course, the audience had worked out that something was amiss. There is nothing eerier than a completely silent audience, let me tell you.

Jack's wound was very deep and he was dead long before a doctor arrived. The theatre manager shepherded the audience from the theatre with the help of the police and then the police proceeded to investigate the backstage and onstage areas. They interviewed one or two of the actors but everyone was very distressed and so they found it difficult to procure a statement of great length or coherence from anyone.

They surmised it was an accident and left leaving behind the instruction to call for them should we find anything out of ordinary that may have some bearing on the conclusion. But they left us with no doubt that they did not expect us to find anything.

The incident was a great shock to everyone. Nothing had changed since the previous nights performance; there had been no arguments, no changes to the cast, no changes at all. Although I suppose we should mention that for the previous nights performance we had to find a new props handler as our regular handler, Oliver Cooke, had come down with a sudden illness. The replacement we found however, one Andrew Everly who has stood in for the last two nights, is well known and respected within the theatre circles and he is personally known to me. I cannot imagine he would commit such a terrible and random crime."

Miss Aoife sighed and stared into her empty brandy glass, lost in her own thoughts. I reflected on the full horror of the crime. That an actor should be murdered - seemingly at random - was a terrifying testimony to the wickedness that resides in the hearts of a select few men. Holmes had finally stopped pacing and stood with his elbow resting on the mantelpiece, a faraway look of deep contemplation in his eyes.

"Are you sure it's a crime and not merely an accident as the police have suggested?" he asked suddenly and bluntly, breaking the heavy silence that had descended on the room.

"Quite sure." Miss Aoife replied firmly. She locked eyes with her cousin and something passed unspoken between them.

"Very well." said Holmes, "I will look into this case for you." Miss Aoife nodded briskly and rose from the couch. She seemed to have regained her composure and with it her commanding nature.

"Then I bid you good day." she said, "I have no doubt that you will now be running all over London searching for the solution to this case and I have no desire to follow you especially in this dismal weather. You may call on me if you have news or if you wish for any more information." And with that she swept from the room.

I stood, staring after her, slightly shocked at the rapid change of mood when I realised I was holding her empty brandy glass. I couldn't for the life of me remember standing up or her giving the glass to me but there it was in my hand. Homes began to laugh and shook his head.

"She has not changed a bit." he muttered.

I placed the glass carefully on the mantle and watched as he darted into his bedroom tugging off his dressing gown as he did so.

"I advise you dress up warm Watson," he called from the depths of his room, "Aoife is right, the weather is absolutely dismal."

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_This chapter was supposed to continue to Holmes and Watson arriving the theatre. I had written the next bit at school, saved it onto my memory stick and walked home. During the journey from school to home the next part of this chapter had somehow deleted itself from my memory stick. *rolls eyes and mutters darkly about technology*. Although actually I don't mind too much as I quite like the chapter as it is. _

_Thank you for reading and thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter; it is very much appreciated. _


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